


Shadow of the Swan

by Maple



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark Quickening, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan's been feeling a bit off lately--angry, edgy, annoyed.  There's a reason for that.  The Dark Quickening he suffered never really was entirely defeated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow of the Swan

“I’ll be right back,” Duncan told Methos. They had been leaning up against some birch trees, waiting for the show to begin, and Duncan had spied a burrito cart up on the sidewalk. He’d tried to wait patiently, but there was an itch between his shoulder blades. Walking over to get a burrito was at least something better to do than leaning up against a tree.

 

Methos glanced over at the cart. “Bring me some nachos if they have them,” he asked.

 

“Sure.” Duncan looked over to the bare-bones outdoor stage, which was at the bottom of a semi-constructed outdoor amphitheater. People were still milling about and Joe was looking over his materials. The show wouldn’t start quite yet.

 

As Duncan stood in line, waiting for his turn, he reflected that the city’s scheduled outdoor concert series was especially lovely on certain days in the summer. There was always the possibility of rain, but for tonight’s concert—which featured Joe and a few of his musician friends that had loosely formed a band—the weather was absolutely perfect. Even the mosquitoes appeared to be absent. Even still, as wonderful as it was, Duncan felt edgy. Was it too idyllic? Too pat?

 

The attendance for this evening’s concert looked to be good. Families were tucked away on blankets, children rolling somersaults nearby under watchful eyes, and older couples had brought their own lawn chairs. Duncan narrowed his eyes at the crowd. That old man over there had a shifty expression. The mother with the toddler seemed distracted. Was she spying on something?

 

“Sir?” asked the entrepreneur with the burrito cart. She was a pretty girl with curly black hair and a spritely manner. “What can I get for you?”

 

Duncan’s attention swiveled from the grounds to the burrito cart. He forced a smile out. For whatever reason, he was feeling sharkish, but it had nothing to do with the music concert. That was just ordinary life, and he needed to get his emotions under control. “Bean burrito with cheese. Extra hots.” He noticed there were no nachos available. Perhaps Methos would want to share the burrito, or maybe go and get his own.

 

“Ranchero sauce?” she asked as she started to build the burrito. “Tomatoes? Lettuce?”

 

“Yes to everything,” he said, trying to stuff down his annoyance. Even this girl’s pleasant voice set him off. Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten, squashing the bad emotions away. He was here to have a good time.

 

A moment later, the burrito was done. And it was enormous. Duncan paid and tipped her well. He stepped away from the cart and studied the burrito. How exactly was he supposed to eat this monstrosity? He tilted it toward his mouth and tried to get a bite.

 

What sounded like a hundred birds taking flight all at once filled his ears, and Duncan turned around. Not a hundred birds, but one enormous bird.

 

In the sky, just above him, circled the largest swan his had ever seen. Its plumage was as white as snow, its beak dark, with a streak of black onto its eyes. He looked around, but he seemed to be the only one who noticed it.

 

On the bird’s back was a person, and as the bird quickly drew closer, Duncan could make out his face. Duncan threw down his burrito and ran the few steps to reach the landing swan.

 

“Richie?” he asked incredulously. “Richie is it you?” This was impossible, he thought. Richie was dead, and by his own hand. He felt a stab of guilt to his gut.

 

“Mac!” Richie said breathlessly as the swan folded its wings gracefully. He jumped down off the swan, pausing to momentarily pat it on the neck. “Mac, we need you.”

 

“Richie?” Duncan repeated, still grasping the fact that his former student was standing in front of him. “Who needs me?”

 

“I’ll tell you on the way, hurry up.” Richie grabbed Duncan’s hand and pulled him toward to swan.

 

“But Adam, and Joe—“

 

“We don’t need them. We need you.” Richie was adamant. “Please.”

 

Duncan hesitated. “What is going on? How are you here?”

 

“We don’t have time!” Richie said, tugging. “Please, Mac.”

 

Duncan narrowed his eyes, but then decided. If this was another trick of a demon, then he wouldn’t play. “No, thanks. Richie is dead, so you can’t be him. And I won’t get involved with demons again.”

 

Richie made a frustrated noise. “Mac, I’m not a demon. I’m Richie. But I need you to help me fight a demon.” He turned his face pleadingly to Duncan. “I am still dead, but that doesn’t mean I don’t exist. And we need your help.”

 

“Who is we?” Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at the young man in front of him.

 

“Sean Burns and Fitz and I. Fitz and Sean are holding him off, but we need you. Please.”

 

Something in Richie struck a chord with Duncan. It felt sincere, and it felt true. “Okay,” he relented. “Where? How?”

 

“On Fernwave,” Richie said, gratitude on his face and relief in his voice. “She’ll take us there.” He climbed onto the swan’s neck, and Duncan hesitated a moment before climbing on behind him.

 

The swan waited a moment to let the settle in, and then took off, running for a moment before beating her enormous wings. Duncan felt the air around him whoosh, and he clung as tightly as he dared to the feathered neck under him. He noticed that the people on the ground still hadn’t noticed the disturbance, and Methos was leaning against the birch tree, as if without a care in the world.

 

The ground grew smaller and smaller as they soared higher. Then the swan began to fly in earnest, pumping its wings, and gliding. Duncan lost sight of familiar surroundings, and the ride seemed to take hours. Finally, the swan dropped down into a forest, landing on the edge of a meadow.

 

“Where are we?” Duncan asked. The flight had been far too noisy and turbulent for Richie to be able to speak loudly enough to explain anything.

 

“The Edge of the Great Forest,” Richie said, his voice low. He patted Fernwave’s neck. “Thank you,” he said. “She’ll bring you back, when this is over.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“We need to get moving. We couldn’t land any closer. We don’t want the enemy to know you’re here and to prepare for you.” Richie started walking and Duncan moved with him.

 

“Richie—“ Duncan started, but Richie had moved purposefully into the trees. Biting back his frustration, Duncan followed. They hiked quickly, dodging trees and rocks, jumping roots, and slogging through some lower, muddy areas. “Richie—“Duncan tried again.

 

Richie had finally stopped, with one hand up and a shake of his head at Duncan to indicate silence. He looked around, catching every detail, and Duncan found himself wondering that he’d finally met the all-grown-up version of Richie. There was only the barest hint left of that boyish nature. This was a man sure of himself and his skills. Yet, Duncan couldn’t quite accept it.

 

Richie had died by Duncan’s hand—through a horrible mistake, yes—but he had died years ago. He’d still been half boy and half adult, then. When had he’d time to grow up?

 

The sound of a bird calling in the forest finally brought Richie’s arm down, and his face relaxed. “That’s the signal. They’ve spotted us,” he said. “Let’s move.”

 

“Richie, stop,” Duncan said. “I want an explanation. All of it.”

 

“Just a few minutes more,” Richie said.

 

“No.” Duncan dug in his heels. He had never enjoyed the feeling of being out of control and at this very moment, Richie was far more interested in his help than Duncan was in giving it, so he had the upper hand. “I’m not taking another step until you explain. And if that’s not to your liking, I’ll return the way I came.” He gave Richie a hard look. “You can’t just pull someone along with promises, Richie.”

 

“We’re almost there,” Richie said. “Sean can explain it better than I can.” Richie waved his hands, wiggling his fingers, as if to demonstrate a particularly complex idea.

 

Duncan narrowed his eyes and took a breath to argue, when he noticed a shadow moving behind a tree. He changed his stance and jerked his head at Richie. “We’ve got company.”

 

Then the shadowy figure emerged. It was Fitzcairn. Duncan nearly dropped to one knee, he was so shocked. Sure, Richie had mentioned Fitz, but Duncan had assumed it was most likely a trick.

 

Fitz grinned. “Miss me, laddie?” he asked. He held up a hand. “Duncan, there’s not a lot of time. I saw you arguing with Richard, but there’ll be time to explain everything later. Can you at least trust us a little bit? I know it isn’t exactly your nature.”

 

Duncan swallowed the lump in his throat. “I can wait.”

 

“Wonderful,” Fitz said. “Best to come around the other way,” he said to Richie. “Sean’s waiting for us.”

 

Quietly, in a line, the three of them moved through the rest of the forest, until finally Duncan spied an overlarge outcropping of rocks. One giant bolder took up the center area, buttressing somewhat smaller stones, forming a nearly three-side enclosed area. The stones kept sightlines minimal and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief when they swung around the stones and he could see the inside.

 

Sean Burns, looking as wise and composed as ever, kneeled on one of the rocks. He had a pair of binoculars in his hand and when he saw Duncan, he stood and came over to shake his hand.

 

“Duncan, thank you for coming.” Sean nodded to Richie and Fitz. “I imagine this is a bit of a shock to you.”

 

“Yeah, a bit,” Duncan replied with wary humor. “Richie said you’d explain.”

 

“I will, but there isn’t much time.” Sean motioned for Duncan to come over to his previous perch. He handed over the binoculars. “Look through that and tell me what you see.”

 

Duncan raised the binoculars to his eyes and gazed through the lenses. At first all he could see was a dense fog. He could make out the outlines of trees and shrubs, perhaps something distant behind them. And movement. An animal? A person? The fog seemed to hang limply in the air, not swirling at all, just clinging to everything in a damp, suffocating sort of way. “Not much,” Duncan admitted. “There might be somebody in the fog, but I can’t be sure.”

 

“That’s our enemy,” Sean said. He put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “You sent me to fight him, a long while ago.”

 

Duncan whirled, confused. “I never sent you anywhere,” he said, suddenly suspicious. Perhaps this was not Sean, though it looked exactly like him, and sounded just like his old friend.

 

“You did, Duncan,” Sean said. “When you took my head, you sent me to fight this enemy. The darkness. The evil of so many built up quickenings.”

 

Duncan closed his eyes, the shame of that moment burning through him. He’d been under the pall of a Dark Quickening, not quite himself, seeing the world through a haze of greed and selfishness. He’d had no thought but for how to gain power or pleasure for himself. “No….” he said, but he knew it was true. “Sean, I don’t deserve forgiveness….”

 

“And neither should you ask,” Sean said gently. “It wasn’t truly you, Duncan. And I forgive you, anyway, but there is no need to even ask.”

 

They were both quiet for a long moment, sharing a look, and Duncan found he couldn’t even fathom how he would ever make it up to his friend.

 

Behind them, Fitz cleared his throat, urging the conversation to start again, and finally, Sean spoke. “I recruited both Fitz and Richie to help me. You defeated the evil, but it isn’t gone. A trace of it has always lingered in you, and it always shall. But lately it has grown stronger and I’ve been unable to keep it at bay. You need to defeat it again yourself, Duncan.”

 

Duncan’s hands grasped at air, aching for the sword of the MacLeod’s. “I haven’t my family sword,” he said.

 

“You don’t need it,” Sean said. “But you can have it if you wish.” He nodded to Richie, who bent to pull something out of one of the shadowy crevasses in the stones, and Richie came forward, bearing the sword.

 

Duncan could hardly believe his eyes. “How?” he asked.

 

“The sword is just a symbol of your goodness,” Sean said. “It is always here, ready for you. You have only to need it or want it.”

 

“I don’t understand….”

 

Sean smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Duncan, this is all utterly real. But at the moment, it does only exist in your own mind. Think of it like a dream. Just a dream with real consequences.”

 

Fitz harrumphed. “You’ve been taking too many heads again, Duncan. Bad heads,” he said. He spent a moment to puff at his pipe, his eyes locked on Duncan. “Not that I would tell you to go and take the heads of your friends, mind you.” He snickered and Richie turned a shade of beet red next to him, and looked away.

 

Regret and horror flushed through Duncan at the lightly stated joke. It was too morbid, too soon.

 

“But you’ve been amassing a potential for evil again, right enough,” Fitz finished. He pointed with his pipe to the area of fog off in the distance. “And your Darkness is out there, and it has been growing. Time to take it down in size.”

 

“How?” Duncan asked. His family sword felt extraordinarily heavy in his hands, the weight of guilt and regrets. “Do I fight it?”

 

“Pretty much,” Richie said.

 

“But if I take its head, won’t I just compound the problem?” Duncan asked, finally getting his mind around the thorniness of the issue.

 

“Not its head,” Sean said. “It’s heart. You must stab it in its heart, and weaken it.” He looked sad again. “You will never be able to fully destroy it. It is a burden you will carry with you for all your days.”

 

“Yeah, but we’ll always be here,” Richie said, and the words tore at Duncan’s heart. “We’ve got your back, Mac. We’ll keep it in line as long as we can.”

 

“The ultimate responsibility is yours, however,” Sean said.

 

Duncan nodded, tightened his grip on his sword, and turned to face the fog. “Just walk in there and face it?”

 

“Afraid so,” Fitz said. “Good luck to you, laddie.”

 

“Good luck, Mac,” Richie said. “See you on the other side.”

 

Sean clasped a hand to Duncan’s shoulder. “We’ll be with you in spirit, Duncan. You have no reason to fear.”

 

Duncan bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said simply, and moved forward. The air began to thicken with fog as soon as he moved away from the stone enclosure. It continued to darken as he moved forward, everything in his sight blurred to a softened focus. As he strained his eyesight to catch the outlines of objects, Duncan concentrated more on his hearing. He wanted to make sure nothing could sneak up on him.

 

The ground sloped up and he began to climb. The fog grew more dense, to the point where even his own feet became indistinct. Only his movement through the fog created eddies and currents, which quickly settled into nothing once again behind him. Nothing else moved.

 

“Have you come to try to slay me?” asked a dark voice, a voice Duncan knew well, as it was his own. As he had seen once before, his doppelganger stood ready, leering at him, licking its lips with malice. “I don’t think it will be as easy as it was the first time. I am stronger now.”

 

Duncan would not have categorized the first time as easy. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life, helped only by the family sword that Methos had given him, and the holy spring.

 

“You can’t be rid of me, you know. We are forever the same, you and I. Part and parcel of the same soul.”

 

“You may be part of my soul,” Duncan said as he drew his arms and legs into position for an attack, “but it is only because you are an experience that makes me stronger.” There was a flicker of fear in the evil Duncan’s eyes and Duncan took that moment to strike. Evil Duncan barely dodged the blow.

 

“I know all your tricks,” he said, slithering sideways. He reached and out of nowhere, his own sword came to him, a grayer, duskier version of Duncan’s own beloved katana.

 

“You’re the only one with tricks,” Duncan replied calmly. He struck again, and again the evil Duncan dodged, though this time without the flicker of fear in his face. “I have looked into myself—“ The evil Duncan attacked with a flurry of strikes and Duncan was forced to concentrate on his defense. The clangs of their swords striking caused sparks and Duncan dove to safety, rolling up, and getting back into a defensive stance. “—and I have seen what darkness I hold. And I choose—“

 

Evil Duncan pressed forward again, slicing through the air. Duncan met his blows with his own sword, turning each attack aside until they were sword hilt to hilt, and face to face. “I choose the better path,” Duncan said softly. He whirled around and he was back to back with his opponent. He thrust his sword backwards and felt it strike flesh. Evil Duncan cried out. Duncan pushed the sword in deeper. He glanced behind him. He had pierced the monster’s heart. He didn’t pull the sword out.

 

Evil Duncan went to his knees, dissolving at the edges into black smog. “Not rid of me,” he gasped with a leer. “Never rid of me. I will always be with you. Whispering in your ear.”

 

“And I will always ignore your advice,” Duncan told him. He stood watching as the rest of the monster fell away into smoky fog, dissipating into nothingness. Duncan stared at the spot on the ground where his enemy had been and promised himself that he would never waver.

 

There was a whooshing noise and Duncan looked up. The beautiful swan from before was landing only a little bit away. She tipped her beak down at him and Duncan sighed. There would be no opportunity to go back to his friends. He had wanted to speak with them, to talk, to explain. To apologize. How he’d let Fitz down, not kept closer. How he’d betrayed Sean, let himself be overwhelmed by evil. How he’d…Duncan couldn’t bear to think of his treachery where Richie was concerned. It would always haunt him.

 

The swan dipped her head, allowing access for Duncan to climb on her back, and he did so. With a beat of her wings so thunderous that Duncan’s hearing was filled with nothing but the movement of air, they lifted off. Again, the ground grew small beneath them. Duncan strained his sight to catch a glimpse of the rocky area where he’d spoken with Sean, Fitz, and Richie, but it melded away in the terrain and he couldn’t make out where it had been.

 

They ascended into the clouds, breaking above into sunlight. All around him was a sea of white and the blue of the heavens, and for a shining moment, Duncan felt at peace with himself. He had evil within him, but he would not act in evil ways.

 

The swan paused in her flight, causing turbulence, to look back at him, fixing one great eye on him. Then she dipped to the side and Duncan had to clutch at the feathers of her neck. They slipped through his fingers and he slid away into open air. As he fell, he thought the swan laughed.

 

He plummeted through the clouds, the air wet and close, everything gray and pressing, until he dropped out of them into clear space. He twisted and could see the ground coming at him. Too fast—too quickly—this was going to hurt—

 

\--the piece of burrito dislodged and Duncan could breathe again.

 

“There you go,” Methos said, close to his ear. “Try not to die in public, okay?”

 

Duncan’s sight cleared in from the edges, and he went from seeing darkness to the many colors of the park. “I—“ He put a hand to his throat. It hurt.

 

“Give it a moment to heal,” Methos murmured.

 

Duncan could see a small crowd had formed around him, faces all concerned. He waved a hand. “I’m okay,” he said. He looked to Methos. “Thank you.”

 

Methos nodded. “I can’t even let you out of sight for two minutes, Highlander. You’re worse than a five year old.” But he said it fondly. “If you’re up to it, Joe’s about to start playing.”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Duncan said. As they moved back to the stand of birch trees, Duncan looked down at the glob of burrito that had nearly choked him to death. All a dream? The brain sending desperate signals as it lost oxygen? Yet, he felt lighter than he had for weeks. Whatever had been pressing at him, scratching up his emotions, had all settled down. His heart and soul were quiet, and content. At least for now.

 

He glanced to the sky and there was the shadow of a great bird. He blinked, and realized it was an airplane.

 

Perhaps it didn’t matter either way.


End file.
